


Suck On This

by TheCobraOfHell



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7893052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCobraOfHell/pseuds/TheCobraOfHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dave is a vampire and Karkat is a hemophiliac. Being immortal is more depressing than anything, and it doesn't help that his entire life up until then had been nearly pure torture. But when he's finally found someone whom he can relate to, Dave can't let him go so quickly... even if he almost killed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Taste

It started off with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.

Great job at finding a sappy song lyric that semi (but not really) relates to this story, Dave. Wow, thanks Dave, you know I did think it was rather genius, we could be a fucking world class, drabble fanfic writer. Fuck yeah, Dave, let’s keep it up. 

Okay no, for real, it wasn’t really a- kiss. More like a bite. A very hard bite. On the neck. And draining blood. But ‘bite’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘this’ so I had to deal with it, so you should deal with it too. 

Fuck it. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty already. 

I’m a vampire, plain and simple. Y’know? Like good ol’ Dracula, that Nosferatu, shiny skin and all. Except, we’re not really like that at all. We’re not pansies, swooned over by emo chicks and sparkling at that slight bit of sunlight, but we’re not monsters either (at least most of us aren’t). We’re just trying to survive in a world that praises our existence yet despise the truth of it. 

Your average vamp will feed up to once a week, usually from a single victim, and only taking about as much blood as you’d donate to a blood drive. Sure, the people we choose can end up dizzy and weak, maybe even a little faint for a while, but other than that they’re perfectly fine!

So relax, okay? I’m chill. You’re chill. We’re all perfectly chill. Everything is so ice cold that Frosty the fucking Snowman could vacation right here in our laps and would complain that the weather is a bit too chilly for his liking. 

Yup, we’re chill.

Alright. I’m not chill, I’m the exact fucking opposite of chill. I am the pinnacle of tense, heated, and compressed pile of anxiety, trademark. I’ve just about turned into a fucking diamond with all of this heated pressure on my rocky existence. 

On the outside, this seems like a regular Thursday night. It’s crawling towards midnight, with me sitting at my kick ass desk and just about to bust out them sick beats for my next video- except not quite. 

No, I’m staring at my bed, sweat dripping down the nape of my neck, intensely watching as a young man squirms just slightly under the covers. The guy has been out for four hours and only now has started stirring. Thank fucking God. 

Like I said, it started off with a… well, a bite. 

Early Thursday evening, and I was on the patrol for my next meal. The downtown area has smaller shops that close early, and it’s just the right time to pick someone off for a nibble. So here I was, chillaxing on a bench, when a good, fucking delicious ass smell had infiltrated my nostrils. I remember licking my lips at that exact moment, my fangs elongating as I locked on to my prey.

And when I opened my eyes, I saw him. He had been across the street, tapping on his phone as he locks the door of a small coffee shop. 

Perfect. 

So I followed him, of course, the usual, until he’s passing a mysterious alleyway, and that was when I had pulled him in. He gave a struggle, the usual, but grew still when I sank my fangs into his throat. Although he twitched, I held him in place as I fed off of his blood. The event was over within seconds, and I allowed him freedom to collapse against a wall to gather his bearings. He had collapsed then, flat against the ground, and it quickly got worse from there. 

Yeah, okay, you’d expect some bleeding from a puncture wound like that, but the amount of blood he was spewing was ridiculous. He was dripping like a faucet, a pool of dark red puddling beneath him that grew larger and larger up until it soaked into my vans. Something was so wrong. 

I had collapsed beside him then, pressing my palms against his throat to stop the bleeding. It did nothing. It wouldn’t clot- just wouldn’t- fucking… clot!

My sweatshirt (may it rest in peace) made the ultimate sacrifice of both soaking up the blood and being a weak, makeshift tourniquet. Of course, it had just kept bleeding. Just my luck to nibble on the one hemophiliac. If I had known better, I would’ve just left the guy at the nearest hospital, booked it, and left it at that, but no. Instead, here I am, twiddling my thumbs and waiting to see if the dude wakes up. Shit, I’m such a good guy, all taking care of the poor kid I just about murdered. 

He stirs again, but this time he’s waking up, giving little grunts as his bones creak and slowly sitting up. If this were a fulfilling vampire AU fanfiction, he would’ve stared at me like a lost affection, assuming maybe we fucked in a drunken stupor. We’d stay in contact as friend/fuck buddies until he learned what I am. Then there’d be a whole chapter of lost love and self-hatred before realizing how much in love we are with each other and get back together, then boom, happy ending. Roll credits. 

Hell, there’s a part of me that wishes this was a sappy fanfic, and I think to myself that it may be fucking possible as he slowly opens his eyes. He looks around the room in bewilderment first before locking eyes with me. For a split second, it looks like that expression of lost affection. And then he screams. 

“Holy fucking shit mongers! You- It- I!” The words tumble out like a sprung leak as he scrambles back towards the wall, splaying himself as though he could fuse into it. “It… It wasn’t a dream. You- you’re a- a fucking vampire-” it isn’t accusatory, more so a plea of disbelief. 

“Congratulations, so you want a medal?” I stand then, and the fucking kid jumps to his feet like he’s ready to deck me. “Hey- dude- chill the fuck out, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Say that as much as you want, I won’t trust you anymore- why the fuck am I here? Is this your house? You live in a fucking house?”

“Yeah, a house, we don’t live in cemeteries and shit. And yeah, it’s mine. Rent and all, pretty chill landlord too if you’re interested. As for your last question, it’s because I didn’t want you to bleed out on the street. I’m a gentleman like that.” 

The kid scoffs, giving a daring look. “Gentleman? You’re a monster.”

“Ouch, that hurts dude.”

He shakes his head, seemingly a bit more at ease. “Be real with me… why did you bring me here? What was the fucking purpose?”

And I laugh. Of course I laugh. My sis says it’s a defense mechanism so my true emotions are harder to detect. She’s right too, cause right now, I’m nervous beyond all shit and I have no idea how to answer his fucking question. 

So, like a suave vampire such as myself, I respond, “My dude, us vampires are a mystery. I can’t just tell you my secrets. I’m like a magician, all Houdini up in this bitch, and I can’t just let you in on my sick tricks.”

Like the tsundere this guy is, he scoffs and rolls his eyes, trying to coerce his legs into getting him to stand. “I don’t know what is wrong with you, but I’m leaving. Now. Unless you have any objections…”

And it’s then that this kid takes an awkward fighting stance, glaring at me like I was denying him a sugary treat. I shrug, the minute fucklings I had prior already gone off to a better home to be raised into strong fucks. “Sure- I don’t give a shit.”

“Hah!” He jumps forward, admittedly making me flinch in surprise. “Prepare yourself, hellspawn, for you’ve kidnapped the wrong- wr- wait, what? You’re fine with me leaving?” When I nod again, he scoffs. “What about all the people I’m gonna tell? You really trust me to keep your entire species a secret? Are you dumb?”

I feign hurt at his comment, wiping away a non-existent tear. “Bro- that- that really hurts…” And I sniffle. “Awe, but, I think I’ve gotten to know you rather well recently, so I’ll be honest with ya. I don’t think you’re going to tell anyone. Not a single soul. And, even if you did, who would believe you?”

He’s fuming, obviously debunked, and muttering obscenities as he shifts about for his belongings. I watch him move about with a smirk, trying to annoy him just a little bit more before he leaves. I want to leave an impression on him after all (although that bite mark might have done better than my personality ever would). 

“Oh, by the way, what’s your name?” I call to him as he’s opening the front door. 

“Fuck you!”

“Alright- see you later, Fuck You!”

When the door is slammed shut, a breath escapes me that I hadn’t known I was holding. There had been another reason I was so nervous, on edge, very unchill, whatever that shit feeling is, and that was because of the bloody sweatshirt laying in the bathroom, staining every bit of clean surface. 

That’s not the embarrassing part though. Nope. The embarrassing part is how I can’t stop myself from kneading the fabric, nuzzling into it like a dog and inhaling the scent of that blood as deep as I can. But it’s good. 

 

So. Fucking. Good. 

I keep smelling it, the scent is so aromatic, intoxicating, one couldn’t even describe the scent by anything other than just… Mr. Fuck You. 

Before the thought comes to me, I’m hard and flustered, warmth bloomed in my gut and body twitching as I rut against the bloody fabric- and then I’m orgasming, all explosive and- 

And the shame settles in. The shame of going full primal instinct. The shame of bowing to a human’s scent. 

And then settles in the confusion.


	2. What do you do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You could never actually pretend what it feels like to be bit by a vampire. It's hard to describe, the flush of different emotions and feelings make it difficult to decipher what is actually going on. The whole experience was dreadful, to say the least, and almost dreamlike. Almost forgettable. Almost nonexistent. 
> 
> When I saw him, when I was in his room, I knew then it was real. Everything that happened, everything I felt, was real.

I might have a problem. 

Ever since that one night, and every night since then, my bloodied sweatshirt had never left my grasp. I was in a twisted cycle of horrendous shame, then being a horny fucking teenager and humping the shit out of that shirt, and back again. 

But hey, at least it’s not drugs. 

Then again, drugs would probably be easier to deal with. 

 

It’s been three days since I’ve seen my new found friend, Fuck You. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been perusing the downtown area, awkwardly loitering across the street from the cafe he works at, hands stuffed in my pockets and trying to poke out the different people inside to find the one who mattered. 

Of course I’m not doing any of that, of course not. And I’m sure as hell not walking across the street (almost getting decked by a fucking car in the process), grabbing the slightly janky door handle and entering the somewhat busy coffee shop. 

He’s there, right there, in slacks and a button up covered with a classy apron, finishing up a hot drink. “Jeremy Rider.” He calls out gruffly upon setting the drink down on the counter. 

I approach the counter, smirk in place, and ready to swoop in and impress this guy that I had just about killed not even a week ago. I’m not sure what I’m doing here anymore, what I want from him, what I’m trying to accomplish by coming into his work place. 

But I’m sure as hell going to do something. 

His eyes roll up to meet me, a customer, and greets- “Hi, how can I help…. Help…” and it was then he realized. One of his hands moved to trace the collar of his shirt where his scar from a particular bite would be.  
And then I trip. 

Be it from my untied shoelaces or just fucked up feet, I’m tumbling forward into the counter, spilling Jeremy’s drink all over the surface and on myself. Both Jeremy as well as another employee are grasping for napkins to clean up the mess as I sputter out apologies. 

Fuck You just stands there all shocked (nevermind, his nametag says ‘Karkat’), staring at me like I killed his newborn child. He coughs, trying to calm himself down so that he doesn’t cause a scene, and then he speaks. “Hi- hm…” his voice strains, crackly and shakey, and he visibly swallows down his fright, “how can I help you?”

Shit. I’m in a coffeeshop, just standing at the counter and staring like a wide eyed deer. I look at the menu, the writing means nothing to me, and I just spit out the first thing I can actually read. “Can I have- one of your Jamaican blends to go please…”

He makes a face, probably wondering why a vampire is actually ordering a coffee and not just jumping over the countertop to mess him up. Karkat moves then, muttering under his breath as he grabs a to-go cup. “So- what’s your name then?”

My name? My name, jesus christ. I didn’t think this through. I can’t just say ‘Dave Strider’, he could take that and file a police report, then I’m really in the shitter. “Uh- sir?” he looks kind of annoyed now, of course he would be, I’m just standing around with a gaped mouth like a fucking fish. 

“Dat Boi!” The phrase hangs in the air for way too long, so long that I wonder who said it. Me. The answer is me. I said ‘dat boi’. 

Let’s recap, okay?

I, a vampire, a creature of pure fright and danger, just said ‘Dat Boi’. I said my name was ‘Dat Boi’ to some young adult man that I had attacked and fed upon and… may, keyword ‘may’, have a little sort of a crush on. I, Dave fucking Strider the vampire douche, just told my most recent victim, Karkat AKA Mr. Fuck You, that he could refer to me as Dat Boi. 

Alright. That’s it. This world is dead to me. 

My spirit left my body at that time to wallow in embarrassment until those cursed words, coffee for Dat Boi, were uttered. I got my coffee, and I booked it. I fucking ran for the hills and I wasn’t coming back, tell my mom I loved her. And the entire fucking time, Karkat was staring at me with a mixture of fright, entertainment, and disappointment that I have never seen before. 

I’m never going to that coffeeshop again. 

 

You could never actually pretend what it feels like to be bit by a vampire. It’s hard to describe too, the flush of different emotions and feelings make it difficult to decipher what is actually going on. The whole experience was dreadful, to say the least, and almost dreamlike. Almost forgettable. Almost nonexistent. 

When I saw him, when I was in his room, I knew then that it was real. Everything that happened, everything I felt, was real. But it didn’t last long. 

I got home then, groggy and not excited for work tomorrow, and collapsing on the couch in a haze. Where had I been? Why is my neck so sore? Did I just come back from work?

No. No no no no no. 

Before I knew what was happening, I was moving. At the bathroom sink, I was sputtering into the drain. The mirror wouldn’t lie, it couldn’t, and it showed me the truth in the form of blooming bruises on my throat. The events of that night came back in a flash, and I couldn’t let it just escape me. 

So I wrote it down. 

Thursday. 8:47. Closing shop for the night. Walk home. Alleyway. 

He has shades. Blonde hair. Couple inches taller. Shirt with a record. 

I can’t forget. I can’t. Otherwise, it’s like it didn’t happen. 

Warm and yet it is cold. Brick wall. Warm blood. Everywhere. Everywhere. Heart stops. Breath gone. Vision white. Tingles, like static, everywhere on me. It’s forever, yet brief. Then cold. 

I can’t forget. I can’t let it happen. 

He watches me, predatory. Uses me like a toy. Plays me like an instrument. I was almost dead, on the brink and he’s fucking joking about it, how he’s a ‘gentleman’ for not letting me die. I know he just wants me to taste freedom, just a bit longer, before he takes me again. 

But what do I do?

The question chants, louder and louder. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

“Hi, how can I help…” there he is, and the feelings are back, cold, harsh, exposing. He stares through my soul, like I’m leaving my body. “Help…”

He knows I’m alone here, it’s just me in this empty world filled with him. No one will help. No one knows. I’m alone. With him. I’m alone with him. 

On my break, Kanaya asks why I’m crying. 

I tell her she wouldn’t understand.


	3. Origin Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t want it all to end, do you?” her voice was beside me, yet distant. My eyes were closed, and yet I saw her ghostly form sink down to me from the abyss. The static from my tv and the ticks of my metronome were drowned to thick buzz, and all I heard was her. “You feel a slight regret…”
> 
> “How do you know that?”
> 
> She waves a finger at me. “You thought it just as rope fiber touched your throat. And that is why I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUICIDE WARNING! THERE IS THE DESCRIPTION OF SUICIDE IN THIS CHAPTER. 
> 
> (I'd like to apologize for the semi-long wait for this. Been having a tough couple weeks. But thanks for all the support!)

I’m 23 years old. I’ve been that way for thirteen years and it’s not going to stop. Becoming a vampire sucks, it hurts, and I live through it every day that it’s almost dull at this point. Almost boring. 

Of course, though, you probably want more detail on that whole disaster, everyone does. It’s like some sort of sick fascination like a ‘how did you two meet’ sort of question. So- listen up, cause I’m only going to tell you this story once. 

My guardian, whom I refer to as ‘bro’, became my caretaker when my parents died. That happened when I was two or something, so it’s a bit lost on me. Besides, the only thing that really matters is how hellish that time was. From the moment he saw me grab one of his strewn about katanas, he was clambering to attack me. Back then, it was like vicious battle or punishment. 

But now it’s just monstrous. 

“This is for your own good.” he said. “You’ll understand one day- why I made you suffer.” At least he acknowledged that fact. 

It was like that for a while, every day training to toughen me up for the real world. Hell, it worked for the most part. I was nimble, hardened from broken bones and bruises, and my hits were something to give the Hulk a run for his money. 

I woke up one day, wrists aching from sword fighting, and went online to speak with an old friend about a new movie coming out. 

“Aren’t you excited?!” he asked me, and I could hear his giddiness from mere text. “I’ve been waiting for this remake for years- I heard they’re having the old script writer help with it!”

“It’s just a movie, John.” I told him. “Beginning, Middle, and End, they’re all the same.”

“You’re such a bummer, Dave.” he complained with a frowning emoji. “Do you like anything at all? Geez.”

He was joking, obviously, but something about his words really struck me hard. No. No, I didn’t really like anything. I didn’t enjoy anything. I didn’t look forward to much at all. 

You never really get a grasp of how fucked up you are until someone breaks your reality. It isn’t normal to be dull all the time. It isn’t normal to feel an empty pit in your gut from morning to evening. It isn’t normal to be in constant pain, to be lethargic, to be numbingly weak. It isn’t normal to wake up and think to yourself every day, I can’t wait to go back to sleep. 

It isn’t normal to feel absolutely nothing. 

There’s only so much pointlessness, monotony, and nothingness a guy can take. And it was the strike to my face that my bro gave me, breaking my fucking nose and even knocking me out, which really broke my humpy camel back. 

Bro left me alone at night for the most part. It gave me time to tie the rope along a banister and ready my clumsy, rolling desk chair. I hung around my bed and stared at it a while, the noose hanging numb like a broken branch. And at that point, I never felt more alive. 

It was with bated breath and racing pulse that I stepped onto the chair, it creaking under the oddly placed pressure, and tucked the loop around my neck. Strangely, it fit nicely and felt right. It did nothing other than hold me snug, but the slightest bit of gravity would sink it in. 

There was turning back, there’s nowhere to go from here. I couldn’t just get down anymore, it was now or never. I don’t know how long I stood on that chair, but weakness soon took me, and my legs buckled in soreness. 

My breath dissipated in one fell swoop as the bones in my dry throat cracked under the pressure. I flailed, shocked, my blood ran cold. My breath. The air. Blood was in my throat; I could taste it. I can’t breathe. My fingers are going static. It’s getting cold. It’s hard to see, no, I can’t see. I can’t hear. The rope burns. And- and I can’t. I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t know what I’m doing. 

Who? Where? What? Why?

Please- someone? What is happening to me? Why am I doing this? Why did I have to be this way? I don’t know what I want anymore, I don’t know why I did this- I don’t know what to do?

“You don’t want it all to end, do you?” her voice was beside me, yet distant. My eyes were closed, and yet I saw her ghostly form sink down to me from the abyss. The static from my tv and the ticks of my metronome were drowned to thick buzz, and all I heard was her. “You feel a slight regret…”

“How do you know that?”

She waves a finger at me. “You thought it just as rope fiber touched your throat. And that is why I’m here.” She hovers closer, head tilting as though she’s observing my predicament. “You have something to do in your life, although you are not sure what it is, the urge was strong enough to give you doubts.”

Damn, she guessed it. 

“It’s not a guess, but an observation.” What? “I can hear your thoughts, of course. You didn’t think you were actually speaking, did you?”

I hadn’t thought of it, honestly. But it doesn’t matter. Who are you? And what are you? And what is going to happen to me?

“You sure are a curious one, aren’t you?” She’s smiling, supposedly, but not seeing her eyes makes it more daunting and threatening than anything else. “If you want my name, it’s Calliope. As for what I am- it’s somewhat complicated. I might be closer to what you think of as a demon.”

A demon? Didn’t know I sinned that much. 

“I said I’m similar to that, there’s no other way to explain it.” She clarifies in an exasperated tone. 

Then what will happen to me? Am I going to purgatory or something?

She looks sad then, but answers anyway. “I’m going to propose a deal with you. If you want to live, I’ll help you continue on. There’s something you want to do in your life, some sort of ambition that drove you to call upon me. I’ll help you stay until that ambition is complete. And then…”

She didn’t have to say it. 

When she goes silent, the emptiness around me becomes heavy and all-knowing. To be honest, it doesn’t take me long to come to a decision. Sure, I didn’t want to die, and finding some meaning to this god-forsaken life would actually be nice for once. There wasn’t anything for me to lose. Besides- if this feeling was death- I wasn’t liking the concept anymore. 

“So, do we have a deal?” Calliope seems to whisper it, brow arched in curiosity. As I recalled my answer, her hands found their way to my jaw, holding as though I were as fragile as porcelain. “I’ll see you later then.”

I snap back, laying in my bed and staring at the ceiling, body numb with sleep paralysis. My dreams were fucked up, but not that fucked up. And, somehow, I knew there was something different about me.


End file.
